Chapter 22
Aurelia
He’ll get a dress.
Whatever Ghoul was getting me to do was definitely not going to work in my favour. In fact, it’s more than likely it’s going to hurt. But unfortunately, he is right. I need the serum for my plan, and I’ll do anything to get it.
I await him after dark, this time on top of the animus dorms, with not a stitch of clothing and a scowl upon my face. I’ve only told Minnie that I’m leaving, and though she wasn’t happy about it, she gave me that half shrug that says, I know you do what you have to, just don’t get yourself killed.
Ghoul arrives on the first cold wind of the night, heralded by the scent of poison. It’s sharp but sweet, toxic but alluring. And when he un-dissolves himself from the shadows into a man, I cast him a level look. “You’re aware they’re hunting me. I can’t go anywhere I’ll be seen.”
“You won’t be,” he says, his occipital lasers glinting that severe crimson. “You take dragon form, and I’ll lead the way.”
“I can do phoenix so we get this done.”
“So impatient,” he drawls. “But no, someone will notice. It gives off too much of a signal.”
I hadn’t really thought of that, but I don’t show that I’m kicking myself. “This isn’t going to be a trap, is it?”
There’s no way for me to tell if the bastard is lying; he’s so well protected by those shadows that I barely get to see his mating mark. “No fun in that,” he says. “Besides, I need you.”
Something ancient stirs inside me at his words, but I have to brush it aside. He has always been my enemy. “I just want you to know,” I say, stalking forward. “That if you betray our agreement tonight, not even death will save you from me. Do you understand?”
He goes still, eyes flashing in something akin to anger.
“Threats?” That sibilant voice is so dangerously soft.
“Threats make me hard, snakelet.” It’s his turn to take a step forwards now.
“Threats make me want to see what you look like bent over your precious academy wall, screaming because my cock is stretching your dripping. Wet. Pussy.”
His lethally soft words do make me wet.
“You’ve been to the Jewel, with warnings from your shark and lion, no doubt. But where we’re going tonight, snakelet, will make the Jewel look and feel a puppy playpen. I know you can handle it.”
I clench my teeth at his assumptions about me. “Then let’s get this done.”
We head into the night, with me following the darkest part of it, an amorphous, shifting ball of the void moving like a missile just beyond my nose.
We don’t head into the city as I assumed we would, but southeast of it to the suburbs.
Ghoul leads me onto an unassuming street, lined with regular domestic houses, and makes a beeline for one property in particular.
This townhouse hits me in the chest—not the vision of it, but the scent all around it that screams to keep away. There’s a tug in my gut.
“Whose house is this?” I say darkly, already knowing the answer.
“It’s mine.”
I let out a huff as he opens the front door without a key and leads me into the dimly lit entryway.
It’s clear he didn’t decorate it himself because no monster except perhaps Xander has this much taste.
From memory, the generals are all given houses of their own as gifts when they join my father as seniors in his retinue.
Just as a king would grant land to his liege lords in the Old Way.
A classy designer has decked this house out in burgundy and black, the occasional white of a lotus breaking up the dark hues.
We go upstairs to the master bedroom, where a king-size bed is decorated with black silk sheets. There is a trace scent of ash in the air. “You’re going to be under disguise as a young woman called Jade Brown.”
“That name is familiar.”
“She’s around your age, probably a peer when you were princess that one time.”
I narrow my eyes at him. That one time. “I’m something much worse now.”
He smirks. “You’ll need to cover your power with that special ability of yours.”
“Obviously.”
Ghoul drapes a black gown across his arms. It’s stunning, off the shoulder but long-sleeved, and it’s not until he helps me step into it that I can see it has no back at all.
It hugs my thighs before trailing down to the floor, leaving a short train.
Being dressed by Ghoul is a mildly disturbing domestic experience.
His hands are gentle but businesslike. It’s nothing like his touch from last night.
He steps back, and those red eyes seem to gleam with a feral awareness that makes my heart quicken. “I want this colour on you,” he says, handing me a small leather makeup case. I open it to find a concealer palette for different skin tones and a single, red lipstick.
I turn around to see him holding a black lace material. “What the hell am I doing here, Ghoul?” I ask suspiciously.
“There’s a little event I need a date to, and, well…you are the perfect candidate.” He shrugs. “Here, put this on. They need only see your lips tonight.”
It’s a tall headdress with a black lace veil.
A traditional serpent kind that wealthy women wear to serpent gala functions.
I’ve seen Aunt Charlotte wear something like it just once.
My stomach turns, but I’ve come here to get what I need, so I take the thing from him and tie my hair in a bun.
I wedge the tall black plastic arch shape in front of the bun, and Ghoul throws the lace veil over it, securing it in place with some clasps.
It hangs low just below the tip of my nose.
The air suddenly changes around me. Around us.
“Fangs out,” Ghoul says in a strange new tone.
I glance at him before obliging. “I think you like these too much.”
“You’d better not speak tonight either.”
“Luckily, serpent women don’t talk at parties,” I hiss back. “Why bother when all the males can do that for us?”
He gazes back at me, no retort on his forked tongue, only a heavy observation that I feel down to my bones. “What do you know about basilisks, snakelet?”
I’m taken aback by the question, so it takes me a second to respond. “Nobody knows anything about them.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re the only…” I say, suddenly losing steam on my line of thought. Ghoul is like me. The last one of his kind. More softly, I say, “Unless…your parents or family are alive?”
It’s the first time I notice any hesitation in him. A drop in the arrogance. His shadows lose some of their height, hanging around low at his elbows. “There’s no sign of any other,” he says. “The shadows would know if there were others.”
“Where do you come—”
He abruptly turns and leaves, his boots clomping away into another room.
When he returns, he’s dressed in a finer version of his normal uniform.
The crisp black shirt and jacket seem darker and of a newer make, a row of gold medals hang from his left breast and he’s added a clean bone mask to his face.
The shadows reach like fingers, looping around me. “We’re going to be late.”
I should be annoyed at his avoidance of the question. I think I know the answer anyway, but this line of thought…this line of conversation is something I’ve not had time to think about before now, and I find myself ashamed of that.
Ghoul leads me to a black SUV in his driveway that looks brand new.
I suppose he never has to use it due to his far more efficient mode of travel.
He helps me and my dress into the passenger seat, and we’re both quiet—him with military efficiency, and me with the poisonous sort of thoughts that only come upon a regina with an enemy as her mate.
It only gets worse when the short drive leads to a gated mansion in a wealthy part of town.
My heart starts pounding at the small tells as to where I am.
The fountain we pass up the long drive is unmarked, and so is the black rendered brick fence at the front.
There are no nameplates or sigils. No big stone statues that proudly shout the order of the occupants.
But everything looks suspiciously brand new.
There are a lot of vehicles parked in neat rows by the entrance—military grade trucks with open-and-closed backs, some with canopy-style coverings.
In stark contrast, classical music plays in the distance, carefully curated to present a certain image.
I’m familiar with these tactics. I’ve practised this facade since I was a child.
A towering mansion sits like a king at the head of the property, with ornate finishings, a possessive archway, and stained-glass stone doors.
With my heart in my chest, I glance at the ground beneath it, wondering if we’re driving over the cells of any unfortunate prisoners.
At the front of the grand entrance, four military beasts stand, black Kevlar vests and automatic weapons at their backs. One wears a skull mask like Ghoul.
The basilisk parks right before them, gets out of the car, and tosses the keys to one of the guards.
With my heart hammering, I flick down my veil and open my door to find Ghoul already there, all but carrying me out so I don’t dislodge my tall headdress.
His shadows wrap around me at the same time his arms do, a light veil of black smoke around my entire body, sheer enough to show my dress and form but not much else.
Now the only thing that will reveal me is my voice.
My world is obscured by black lace, as if this household requires yet another layer to disguise the dark origins of the funds that led to its purchase: me.
The guards avert their gazes and don’t appear surprised to see Ghoul’s lady companion as she walks inside.
Golden lights gleam on the white shiny tiles, and to my ears come the sounds of glasses clinking, excitable chatter, and Mozart in the background. A classic, but sizable serpent’s party.
The basilisk does not clutch me to his side, but his shadows do the job of being commanding, telling all those who come across us tonight that I am his possession.
I get a strange sense of déjà vu. As if by stepping into this house, I’ve stepped into an alternate reality where I get a glimpse of what could have been.
Where nothing in the past ten years has happened.
Like I’d never been exiled. As if I’d never been a Boneweaver, but a serpent princess and heir to my father’s empire.
The fangs scraping my lower lip could have been my permanent cobra fangs. Ghoul could have been my high-ranking consort. I’m in a sort of daze as the sounds of the party get louder and two doors swing open to admit us.
Ghoul and I step inside, and we’re greeted by a round of clapping that suddenly roars in my ears. Someone cheers. My eyes squint under the bright lights as I struggle to catch my breath, realities colliding in the most brutal way.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ghoul drawls, holding an arm out to me. “I present to you my bride, Jade Brown.”
An engagement party? This motherfucker.